Just an Experiment
by Zima Zimavich
Summary: America finds Russia around the end of the S.U., and does a pretty terrible job comforting him. 4-time amputee Russia, and stuff. I don't know where it was going, if anywhere at all.


((Yo. I thought maybe it would be fun to show my fist (serious) (Hetalia) fic ever. I wrote it in, like, July on some old receipts at work, between customers. That was fun. I just remembered it a few days ago, and typed it up now. (It was hard! The paper is all crinkly and I held it with my right hand and typed lefty because my right hand sucked at typing even though I am right handed. Whatever, logic is great.) It was really hard not to correct stuff and fix things and make it make more sense. And there's a lot of unattached dialogue and stuff, I don't really know what's going on. I left myself a lot of random notes and stars and I have no idea what they mean now.))

((I don't own Hetalia and stuff.))

When the Mongols came, he lost a leg. He got a wooden one to replace it. Wood wasn't the best leg (he had to worry about termites and it was always such a pain to replace it when he grew, and he grew a lot), but it served his purpose.

When he fought with Japan, he lost an arm. It wasn't his dominant arm, so he didn't have to relearn how to write a feed himself. His center of balance was thrown off, though, since he was now missing two limbs.

In 1917, he lost his other arm, but it okay, really! He had Lithuania to take care of him! He adapted (again), and learned how to use his only remaining limb (a leg) to do things legs and feet were not intended to do.

Now it was 1991, his beloved union was falling, and it seemed his body couldn't take another change. He lost his last leg, and this time there was no one here to help him. He was completely invalid, helpless, _hopeless_, useless. He supposed he would sit in his big, empty house until he starved to death. Or died of thirst. Hopefully, the next Russia would (in all of his/her full-body glory) not be such a failure.

So he sat and thought, a big lump of meat, waiting for death.

Until, that is, American burst in. The last country Russia wanted to see.

"Yo, dude! What's up?"

"What do you want, America?" Russia sighed.

"Nothing! Or...just, you know, to chill."

"Or gloat about what you've done."

"Hey, man, you did this to yourself."

"You didn't do anything to help. Not very heroic of you, is it?"

"Yeah, well, I'm here now, so."

"No. Please leave now. Really, I'm thrilled you found time to stop by and not gloat, but now you should go. You have world police duties to uphold, don't you?"

Choosing to ignore the "world police" quip, America said, "What, and leave you to die? Heroic or not, that's not something I can do."

"America, _please_. Get out of my house."

"What are you gonna do, chase me?"

Russia looked to the side and down a bit, anger replaced with something less hostile. America looked at him (_all_ of him) as if noticing for the first time he wasn't all there. "O-oh. I'm sorry. But, look! You've still got two perfectly good eyes! You've still got your nose, you hearing, your mouth. And technology-man it's wild. We've got these limbs, right? Metal. You can move them! And we're working on ones that respond to your nerves! So it's like you never even lost them. You can be like a cyborg! An evil one, of course."

"Because I am always the villain."

"No! Not always. Just...most of the time. Besides, the villain never _really_ dies. Just...it goes away for a while. Or brought back to life.

Russia sighed again. "So if you're not here to gloat, why _are_ you here?"

"To make sure you hadn't killed yourself. Or died. Or, you know, preventing what you're apparently doing from happening."

"But _why_? I'm useless now. When I die, there will be a new Russia who is _all_ here, in body and mind."

"But I don't _want_ a new Russia. I like you now. Now move over so I can get these sheets of-EWGODWHATHAPPENED there's blood everywhere!"

Honestly, Russia was surprised it had taken this long for him to notice. Usually it was the first thing people saw. "What happens every time. General Winter came and sawed it off. But he's not usually very solid...he does his best, though."

"Ew. Dude, that's seriously wrong. Soo..." America walked to the other side of the bed to see the damage from another angle, and "FUCKDUDE! I found your foot!" Then, "I'm not picking it up."

"So we are going to let it rot here? I am by no means capable of picking it up."

America thought for a second, then flipped Russia off the bed and onto the floor, stealing the sheetes in the process. "I'm not spending forever trying to get the stains out. And I'm NOT touching that."

From his (uncomfortable) place on the floor, Russia smirked. "I wasn't even aware you knew how to do laundry, America."

Making a face as he poked the leg, trying to figure out exactly _how_ to pick it up without touching it, America said, "Well, _duh_. _Everyone_ knows how to wash sheets. You just toss 'em in the machine with some soap, turn it on, go do something, and bam! done. Ew, you never wrapped this, did you?"

"And how would I do that?"

"Well at least it stopped bleeding. A wonder you didn't bleed to death. I'll be right back."

Russia hummed in response.

A short while later, America returned with bandages and disinfectant. "Hold still," he said, as he poured nearly half the bottle on Russia's leg. Russia clenched his teeth, but didn't move. He was pretty used to it by now.

"When America finished, he admired his handiwork. Pretty good. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Good, because I am. Let's go see if you've got anything edible."

As it turned out, there wasn't. Well, not really. Not enough for two meals for two full grown males. There was, however, some bread (America scraped the mold off and managed to salvage most of it), a half a can of mixed fruit, and (naturally), a large supply of vodka. America was _quite_ unsurprised.

After ignoring his own growling stomach and practically force-feeding Russia (filled with "_**Eat it**_." "No. I told you I'm not hungry." "You've probably gone a least a _week_ without any food, _you need to eat_."), America made an announcement.

"I am going food-shopping."

"Congratulations," Russia commented dryly from his spot on the floor.

"I'm taking you with me."

"No."

"But I need you to translate and tell me where to go and I need your money."

"The people are going to stare at me. They'll laugh and point and talk about me."

"But they're _your_ people. They won't do that to you. And we can just tell them you're a vet and stopped a bomb or something."

Russia grumbled and refused, but America was having none of it. He did, however, frown down at Russia, who looked a bit dirty. He shuddered at the thought of cleaning him. But maybe he should try to make Russia look a bit less like something the cat dragged in...naw. America needed food NOW. And when America needed food, NOTHING stood in his way. NOTHING.

He flung Russia over his shoulder and went to the car.

* * *

><p>((I...I don't want to fix this one up and stuff, but it's haaard! And embarrassing. But, I want to experiment with it, see? (Run tests, have fun, etc.) I'd like to rewrite it and fix a <em>bunch<em> of things, and, yannow, make it _better_ overall, but I'd just make it another chapter one? Like, same story, but just two chapter ones. I could do a new chapter one every, like, six months. That'd be fun. Maybe I'll even continue. I dunno. But, I think I'll leave this part up. Just because. (Ahh, memories.)))

((OH and also I keep forgetting to say. You know that one story that I said I'd update in March and then didn't? I'm working on it still. All the months have been terrible, this semester sucks so much. I can't wait for it to be over.))


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